Fate's End
by MarginalMary
Summary: The unwritten life has stories to tell. Harry wants to understand his godfather. Hermione wants to understand everything. Together, they find more than they dared hope at fate's end.
1. January 2nd 1996

Fate's End

I don't own Harry Potter.

This is a prequel of a Sirius/OC (kind of) story I'm writing. It's unconventional, I guess, mixing elements of the time-travel/rewrite history type themes with more canon-compliant ideas. Anyway, this is a flash-fiction. Enjoy.

Summary: The unwritten life has stories to tell. Harry wants to understand his godfather. Hermione wants to understand everything. Together, they find more than they dared hope at fate's end.

* * *

_"How prudently we proud men compete for nameless graves, while now and then some starveling of Fate forgets himself into immortality" - Wendell Phillips_

_

* * *

_

_January 2, 1996 _

Harry beckons, deceptively off-hand, "Hey, Sirius. I've been thinking, and I wanted to, er, talk about _it_... if you don't mind."

Not bothering to look up, Sirius mutters absently, "Dangerous pastime, thinking is. I always cautioned your father against it, but what do I know, eh?"

He and his godson are sharing a comparatively quieter evening in Grimmuald Place's library while the Weasleys and Hermione visit Arthur in his sick room on the second floor. Remus knows when to make himself scarce, and the other Order members have neither the time nor inclination to intrude upon Sirius and Harry's companionable silence among the dusty tomes.

Somewhat less than pleased by Sirius' lack of enthusiasm, Harry ventures forward, "I know you're... _different_ from your family, but I've always wondered why? I mean... did something happen to make you choose or did you always hate them and the Dark Arts?"

Caught off guard, Sirius's eyes abandon his book, _Advanced Protective Enchantments in Tranfigural Charms_, flying to Harry's face. But after his shock fades, his expression becomes pensive.

Covertly, Sirius observes the firelight waver across the lens of Harry's glasses, hiding his green eyes. He sees James, misses James, remembers the same question posed under similar circumstances. They'd been in the restricted section of library at Hogwarts late at night, and his hapless best friend chose that moment to inquire '_why?_'

"It wasn't that simple," Sirius starts, the same phrases rising to his lips after twenty-five years. "I didn't always hate them, and they weren't always hateful... or synonymous with Dark Arts. Not to me, at least. Children can overlook anything so long as there's fun to be had. Honestly, I didn't understand the meaning of irreconcilable differences until Bellatrix forced the issue, but... those differences had always been there. Even now, I'm not sure I get it. Perhaps, we had it right as children and then fucked it up as adults."

Frowning, Harry tries to understand, to find a grain of literality in Sirius' explanation. But he can't. His doggish godfather sounds a bit too much like Dumbledore or Lupin at the moment - curse word not withstanding. "Can you just tell me what happened, Sirius?" he goads, frustrated and desperate. In these uncertain times, who knows if he'll ever get the chance to ask again?

"... Pandora happened, Harry," Sirius replies succinctly, and though his meaning is even more vague, the raw grief in his voice dampens Harry's curiosity considerably. Sirius has never looked so... young, Harry decides, never so lost.

Turning back to his homework, _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade Five_ open on his lap, the teenager offers, "I'm sorry, Sirius. It must have been awful." He doesn't know who Pandora is or was, for he assumes she's a real person and not a mythology reference, but she must be important. Losing someone important... It changes a person, steels and hones him.

Even if Harry doesn't know everything, he finally understands the force that drove Sirius as a boy; loss and longing drive Harry as well.

"It was," Sirius confirms, trying for equanimity. "But it led me to James and Remus, and later to Lily and to you. I'll always be thankful for that, even if I lost someone equally precious."

"Thanks for telling me, Sirius," the godson whispers, turning a page.

"Thanks for asking, Harry," the godfather whispers back, deciding on a whim that he'll give the boy his father's mirror so they might speak more openly of these and other like-matters.


	2. July 15th 1996

Fate's End

I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

_July 15, 1996_

Remus stands in Sirius' bedroom in Grimmauld Place, gaze fixed on a photograph of himself and his best friends at 15. He's conflicted at the moment:

Pissed beyond reason that Sirius affixed the picture to the wall with a permanent sticking charm.

Pleased beyond words that the charismatic joker thought a quiet bookworm like him worthy of the honor.

Irritated beyond spleen that there's no one left to complain to.

Pained beyond endurance that Sirius has left him behind too.

It's agony of the highest magnitude. Remus could stand here for ages, alternately glaring mutinously and staring longingly at that photograph, and he'd never quell the tumult in his heart. There's just no fixing what's broken inside him. There's just no way to take that picture from Sirius' wall.

"What are you doing in here, Remus?" asks Hermione, head poking in from the hallway curiously. The girl has only come to this old house for a few hours - she can't stand much more than that - to clean the kitchen for the Order. She yearns to be useful, to assuage her sense of powerlessness.

Still, her summer visit is a secret. Everyone knows that Harry can never know.

With an effort of will, Remus turns away from the magnetic picture, intent to gauge his former student's expression. It reads clear, which is good; the tears in his eyes must have gone unnoticed. "I'm just saying hello to my old friend," he answers honestly. "It's easier to do than saying goodbye, I'm afraid."

"Yeah..," Hermione murmurs sympathetically. "I get choked up whenever I say goodbye to Ron and Harry these days, and they're not even..." Shocked by her own idiotic insensitivity, she back-pedals, "They're still—I mean, I see them all the time, you know?" Another second of Remus' calmly accepting silence might kill her, and for the first time, she's glad Harry blows up at them once in a while.

"It's alright, Hermione," Remus says bracingly, stepping away from the wall and going over to sit on Sirius' unmade bed - he'd bet his life that bed hadn't been made since Sirius died. Wincing but attempting valiantly to pass it off as a shrug, Remus presses on, "It's good that you appreciate the danger, that time is of the essence, and you cherish your friends. But don't forget to live in the moment. There are times... There are wonderful wasted hours which are only wonderful because they've been wasted. Sometimes, you have to enjoy what you have fearlessly, otherwise you'll look back and feel as though you never had it at all."

"Do _you_ feel as though you never had them at all, Professor?" Hermione wonders aloud, reverting to the old title like a endearment.

Contemplative, Remus considers his memories deeply before answering, "No... Truth be told, I'm guilty of the opposite tendency. We were reckless and invincible... _until we weren't_. We just woke up one day and realized that fabled 'tomorrow' had come at last._" _

Hermione smiles at the worldweary man sadly, accepting his wisdom without question. "You remind me of Professor Dumbledore when you talk that way. You're both rather figurative when it comes to emotions and such."

"No higher compliment, Miss Granger." Remus smiles wanly in turn.

Looking around the poster-plastered room with a wry expression, Hermione expands absently, "According to Harry, Sirius had his moments too. I knew he had a certain fondness for astrology, given his family's penchant for naming themselves after stars, but I didn't know he liked mythology. 'Suppose there's a lot I didn't know, though."

"Mythology?" Remus inquires, perplexed. To his knowledge, Sirius had his fill of magic and lore from schoolwork, only studying those topics for practical purposes. His extensive knowledge of astrology was more a consequence of his upbringing and a benign interest in muggle astronomy than a bent toward whimsy and dead religions."

Not excepting the question, the girl swings her heavy curls in Remus' direction, matching his confused frown with one of her own. "Why, yes," she explains tensely - she's not sure how much she's allowed to share - "Harry asked Sirius why he sided against his family during Christmas break last year, and Sirius said something cryptic about 'Pandora.' Harry's convinced that she was a real person, but I checked the school registrar and no one by that name went to Hogwarts since 1874."

"Did it ever occur to you that she was a squib or a muggle?" asks Remus in the same impassive tone he used as a teacher to guide his students to the correct conclusion - in a round about manner, of course.

Brow raised, intrigued, Hermione rejoins, "Was she?" ghosting toward Sirius' bed-turned-couch. "She's not on the Black family tapestry, though that's hardly conclusive. A squib would have been blasted off. But I can't imagine Walburga and Orion Black allowing Sirius to associate with muggles or squibs."

"You're right, of course," Remus concurs with a hollow laugh, acknowledging silently that Hermione truly is the brightest witch of her age. "Walburga Black didn't want Sirius to associate with the greater part of wizarding society, much less non-magical society." He lifts a hand to rub his tired amber eyes, wondering momentarily if he's overstayed his welcome among the living. Then, Remus bares a secret he swore he'd never tell: "Pandora Burke was neither muggle nor squib, nor even muggleborn. She was Sirius' third cousin on his father's side, and though I never had the pleasure of meeting her, Sirius told me once - while very, very drunk - that she met an unfortunate end at Bellatrix's hands...

"Apparently, she'd come to live in this house when she was six before anyone knew the identity of his father. Her Burke mother was dead, and Pandora was the only Burke left and heir of their considerable fortune."

"Burke... _Burke? _As in Borgin and Burkes?" Hermione guesses, brows pinched together in thought while she leans against the bedpost to her left.

"Right in one, Miss Granger," Remus incorporates her interruption without reproach. "Caractacus Burke the Elder, proprietor of the aforementioned, died a year after Pandora came to live with Sirius' family, and apparently, the old man did not know the identity of his great-great-niece's father either. At first, the Blacks were, by Sirius' account, enchanted by the little orphan heiress. The Black girls - Andy, Bellatrix, and Narcissa - doted on her, and Orion fought hard to secure Pandora's hand for Sirius. But Walburga wouldn't have it - not until she was assured beyond a doubt that Pandora's blood ran pure on _both_ sides. They compromised by betrothing her to Regulus instead, a position of lesser import to Walburga's mind."

Hermione infers with disgust, "So being the child of an unmarried woman doesn't matter as long as both of the parents are purebloods? They regard procreation with the same sanctity as breeding horses!"

Patient as a forgotten pool, Remus argues fairly, "Does it matter either way? Should Pandora have suffered for the indiscretions of her mother or the blood of her father?"

To which, Hermione has the grace to hang her head in shame, mortified by her sudden malice. "No, no, of course not. It's just... the hypocrisy robs me of my reason. Sometimes, in my desperation to understand this pureblood mania, I find myself forcing my ideals on others too. I'm... so sorry, and I didn't mean it."

"It's fine. I know you don't really feel that way, Hermione. Learn what you can about yourself from your mistake, and then forgive yourself," advises Remus, speaking from a position of experience. "We, none of us are perfect, and the minute you begin to expect perfection, you grow lax and blind to opportunities for personal growth."

Swallowing additional apologies, Hermione returns to their original topic, ordering herself not to interrupt again. "So... what happened? Did the Blacks discover the identity of Pandora's father? And... how does Sirius feature in this, aside from being present?"

"Simple really," Remus sighs, traitorous eyes flying back to the picture on the wall. "Walburga hired an man to find Pandora's father, and after a few years of digging, her agent found the muggle fellow in America. The family was in uproar, of course. And in a fit of rage, Bellatrix killed her. Then, the rest of the family invested considerable effort, money, and time in convincing themselves that Pandora's death was justified... The fact that they had loved one of inferior birth - that a fair few had prized her as the future of their line - called into question their conviction that blood made you worthy. Pandora wasn't worthy by their lofty standards, and yet she had been. Instead of living through the disgrace of bringing Bellatrix to justice, they buried her crime under their pride and baseless feelings of betrayal. Pandora Burke was only nine."

"And Sirius?" Hermione whispers brokenly, a film of unshod tears blinding her.

"Even simpler," Remus answers with a broken-off smile. "He told me he offered to seed his title and inheritance to Regulus when the family found out about Pandora's parentage; that way he would marry Pandora quietly when they came of age, thereby relieving Regulus of his obligation without anyone losing face. Only barely nine, and Sirius decided that he'd rather abdicate than put Pandora through the public humiliation of a broken betrothal and emotional torment of exile from the only family she had left.

"Imagine how that must have changed him... The only things he'd ever loved were himself, his family, and Pandora - in that order. He'd been lucky enough to naturally be what most people only dream of being: intelligent, rich, healthy, beautiful, and, most importantly, loved. He had everything he wanted, and he'd yet to encounter a door that didn't open before him with the lightest touch. Then out of nowhere, he was going to lose the only thing he truly begrudged his brother and upon which he disagreed vehemently with his mother. At nine, I doubt Sirius thought his parents would agree to his offer to abdicate for Pandora. Rather, I think Sirius hoped his parents would notice the monumental fuss he was making and reconsider in his favor. He never took Bellatrix's latent insanity into account; in fact, he foolishly hoped that she would aide him, for she had been closer to Pandora than anyone else, save Sirius, himself - perhaps, Regulus too.

"But it did not work out his way. _His way__ -_ that, I think, stunted his emotional development more than anything else. He never dealt with her death because he couldn't look past his own failure to save her. It was too heavy a burden for a child, and it weighed upon him heavily throughout his life. His relationships with women were always shallow, and - with exception of James Potter or a bottle of liquor or some combination thereof - he was content to confide in ghost rather than people. Sirius did not like to share: not his friends, not his feelings, not his secrets, not even Harry."

Feet shuffling, Hermione can do little more than shake her head. After a taciturn pause - the resurrection of the man who so embodied the adjective - she sighs, "I'm shocked he could stand to live in this house after that, much less return to it after Azkaban."

"I don't understand it either, Hermione," Remus concurs, chin in palm, elbows on knees. "I always thought it was unhealthy, but what could I do? In some ways, he gloried over his mother's and Bellatrix's mortification. He neither forgave nor forgot, and so using this place as headquarters for the Order gave him something to smile about. I can't fault him for that."

Hermione nods, impressed by his deduction but privately convinced that there must have been more to it. "Did he ever tell you what she was like? Or what he was like when he was with her?"

"Not really," Remus admits. "He might have told James though. It wouldn't be the only secret between them they kept to the grave." His tone is bitter, almost angry, so he feels compelled to reveal the tiny bit he does know. "Even when Regulus and he were at war - Excuse the pun. It's in poor taste, but accurate none the less - they'd spend Pandora's death-day together. He said she was uncommonly short, smart, and very pretty... It's not much to sum up a life. But then again, she was only nine when she died, so I find it fitting: an unwritten life is a profound tragedy...

"What can I say, Hermione? Sirius thought the earth rotated on 23 and 1/2 degree angle because that was Pandora's favorite number. He loved her like a child - without reservation or conditions. And when she was gone, he found his perfect kingdom was more akin to a gilded cage. Then, he met James, who reminded him of himself before Pandora died, and loved him for it. He proceeded to make his whole life about James' happiness because he didn't think he deserved his own, and then that, too, was destroyed by someone he'd risked enough to trust." A strangled groan punctuates Remus' furious muttering, and he can't help glaring anew at that stupid photograph of the Marauders. He loves it too much and hates it too little. It's so unfair.

Hermione can do little more than bear witness to Remus' torment for Sirius' dashed life, but she just has to ask one last thing. "Who else knows? Who might Harry ask for more?"

Though slow in coming, Remus eventually replies, "Andromeda, I'm sure. Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix LeStrange, though I wouldn't suggest he call on them. I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to know either." After a second's disconsolate silence, he murmurs, "If you don't mind, Hermione, I'd like to be alone with... I'd just like to be alone, alright?"

"Of course," the girl whispers, the tears she's been keeping in now dripping down her ashen face. "We both know it's not easy to say goodbye."

"Then, how about 'until we meet again,' Miss Granger?" Remus almost smiles.

"Later, Professor," she bids him farewell, eying that photograph of young Remus, James, Peter, and Sirius on her way out the door with newfound pity and respect.


End file.
